


No More Someday

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [254]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: AU Where Everyone Survives the War, F/M, Feelings Realization, M/M, Multi, Penetrative Sex, V-J Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 14:45:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18471109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: It's a hell of a thing, what you can let yourself feel when it's no longer the end of the world.





	No More Someday

Her name was Gloria. She was a secretary for some defense outfit in Midtown. She smelled like lilacs and she liked gin rickeys and she was game for being one girl on two arms.

They took her dancing first, to some Stork Club knockoff where the bouncer remembered Bucky, called him by name, threw his arms around him and cried a little: _So happy you’re back_. Inside, the place was packed and it was hot as hell so they tossed their coats in a booth and loosened their ties and took Gloria to the floor in their shirt sleeves, held her between them like a bird caught loose between hands. Her dark hair was already falling from its chignon and her décolletage was damp and the sight of her in Bucky’s arms, her head on his shoulder, the feel of he and Bucky’s fingers tangled on her hips, made Steve feel tight and hot. They weren’t dancing like nice people, like nice boys with a nice girl, and nobody cared, least of all her, moving silky and sex in their arms, her lips curved as Bucky nuzzled her throat, as Steve squeezed the curve of her ass. Before the war, before victory, they’d have been thrown out on the spot, shunned even in a slummy club like this one; but now, with the tanks of Europe now stilled and the bright light of Nagasaki barely set, nobody in this city gave a shit. Everybody was drunk with it, the end of the fighting, the secession of pain and of death, and tonight, this humid night in August, pleasure in the face of survival was all that mattered, all about which anybody in the whole country cared.

The song went slow and Steve pulled Gloria to him, Bucky still firm at her back. She sighed when he kissed her, sighed and pressed her tits to the stretch of his chest.

“Your friend’s hard,” she murmured in his ear.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” She rubbed her cheek against his. “And you’re getting there, aren’t you?”

Bucky’s hand found his wrist and scratched gently at his cuff; it was like sulfur on a match, that touch. “God, yes.”

Gloria smiled. He could picture it, that soft coral curve, imagine it curled around the swell of his dick. “Good,” she whispered. “Oh, honey. That’s good.”

They had another drink, somehow, and another, and then her hair had fallen to her shoulders and her hand was busy under the table, petting at Bucky’s lap and grinning at both of them, her green eyes almost glowing as Bucky grunted and squirmed.

“Steve,” he said over the music, over the frantic hum of the crowd. “Jesus, Steve. Please.”

And there was something wild in the night that let Steve know what he meant, that made him stand up and snatch their coats in one hand and Gloria’s in the other and together, they wound their way past the stage and behind it and through a door and into a room dark and dusty. An old coat check room, maybe; a holding room for the dancers: all that mattered was they they were alone and Bucky was opening his fly and Gloria’s pretty hand was on him and Steve was behind her, unzipping, peeling her breasts out of her dress.

She whimpered when he touched them, held their soft velvet weight in his palms, but she moaned when Bucky kissed them, ducked his head and licked at the full bloom of her nipples, his tongue teasing the tips of Steve’s knuckles as he dragged it up and down and back.

“If you keep jerking him like that,” Steve said, his words like molasses, “he’ll come.”

She shook her head, her curls brushing Steve’s face. “Want to feel him come in me.”

“Then you’d better stop, hadn’t you?”

Bucky made a low, hot sound and lifted his head. “There’s a chair or something in the corner, Stevie. Get it for the lady, huh?”

It was old and moth-eaten but the thing had four legs; when Bucky sat down, his pants around his ankles, his hand closed around the base of his cock, it seemed sturdy enough.

“Are you ready?” Steve said, holding Gloria again. She’d taken off her dress and was down to a scrap of silk and lace soaked through with wet and want. She shuddered when he found her there, when he petted her sex and stroked her spread lips. “Or do you want my fingers first?”

She and Bucky both groaned. Her legs shook. She arched hard against his chest. “Fingers,” she got out. “Oh, god. Put them in me.”

There was light from the outside, the streetlight on the corner, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Later, Steve would remember straining in the shadows to see himself sliding inside her, her body greedy for him, eager, her own hand busy stroking her clit, and all that time, there was Bucky, biting his lip and straining up in his chair, straining, doing his best not to pull on his dick.

She was tight inside, slick as summer, and she was rocking back against him, rubbing her ass against the angry swell of his cock, and he wanted her; sweet god, did he want her, wanted to feel her pussy fluttering silk around him as he fucked her, bit kisses into the back of her neck, but it was Bucky who was rolling one on, Bucky who was two shakes from shooting his load, Bucky who threw his head back and howled when Steve shuffled stepped her forward and pushed her down onto Bucky’s needy cock.

And then they were fucking, Bucky and this beautiful girl, her hair flying everywhere and her tits shoved in his face, his hands braced at the small of her back. Outside, the whole world was still dancing but in here, in this close little room thick with dust and the smell of her sex, all that mattered were the sounds Bucky was making, desperate and pretty and slick. Bucky, who was alive; Bucky, who’d made it home in one piece; Bucky who was staring at him with a face so full of love, of all they’d been through, of all the joy that might lay ahead now that the war was finally at an end that it made something in Steve ache, deep and good, like a bruise he’d willed himself to forget. It was time to stop saying  _someday_ and  _maybe_ when it came to he and Bucky; to pretend that every time they did this, touched each other with a pretty girl between them, it didn't mean this, the thing he could see in Bucky's face, the thing he knew was emblazoned on his. No more someday, no; the time, at last, was then.

He reached over Gloria’s shoulder and cupped Bucky’s face, smiled into those soft, blazing eyes, and when Bucky came, biting out the beats of Steve’s name, it was easy to fall to his knees and dip his hand between their bodies and rub gently at her clit, gently, while Buck was still stiff inside her and bring her off hard and perfect between them, her breasts bouncing as she squeezed at Bucky’s shoulders, a long shudder peeling in waves down her back.

“So,” she said at last, her breath rough on Steve’s jaw. “Guess it’s your turn, huh?”

He stroked the stretch of her ribs. He was shaking with want. “It doesn't have to be. I--I don’t want to hurt you.”

She laughed, a sound that Bucky echoed. Both of them were grinning like cats. “Trust me, honey,” she said, a voice like dark chocolate, her hand creeping back towards the heat of him. “Between me and and your friend here, we’ll make sure you won’t.”

 

***  


They took her home, after, saw her right to her front door in a cab. She sat sleepy between them, her head on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky’s hand clutched her lap.

“You could come up,” she said when the car stopped, when the only sound was the click of the meter. “Flash those medals of yours on your jackets and even my witch of a landlady wouldn’t care that I was entertaining callers this late.”

“No,” Steve said as gently as he could. “Not tonight.”

He got out and helped her to the sidewalk. She leaned up and gave him a kiss.

“Why do I have this strange feeling,” she said, “that I’ll never see you two again?”

Steve tucked a long curl behind her ear. “I didn’t say that.”

She looked from him back to the cab, from his face back towards Bucky’s. “No,” she said finally, a rueful little smile. “I guess you didn’t have to. Wars don’t end every day, huh?”

“No, they don’t.”

She kissed his chin and stepped back, her skin bright beneath the streetlight. “Well,” she said, “you two make a girl wish that they did.”  


***

  
They rode home in the last minutes of darkness, the tail end of a delirious night. All the bars that they passed were still open and champagne bottles and confetti littered the street.

“I guess this is what victory feels like, huh?” Bucky said as he reached shyly for Steve's shirt, his fingers stumbling over the buttons. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Steve cupped Bucky's face, smiled when Bucky's hands found his skin. “I know,” he murmured. “It’s glorious, huh?”

**Author's Note:**

> ...where the hell this came from, I do not know.


End file.
